


From the Desk of Ben Hargrove

by adreadfulidea



Category: Mad Men
Genre: F/M, Kinkmeme, Sexy Robot AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:18:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adreadfulidea/pseuds/adreadfulidea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're getting so realistic. Almost human, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another kinkmeme fic: "Peggy orders a robot to help her with renovations on her building. She's expecting something very basic and utilitarian; looks human but pretty much only exists to follow commands and then shuts down when not needed. What she gets is Stan, a wisecracking, flirty, boundary-pushing robot who has more personality than most humans she knows."
> 
> One day I'll come up with an idea of my very own. I promise.

It was three o’clock in the morning and something terrible was happening in Peggy’s apartment.  

The sink was overflowing, but not with water - or if it was water, it was a color that no water should be. And that was without even getting to the texture or the smell. Peggy was helpless to stop it. The buckets she had put out couldn’t hold any more. Her pathetic attempts at home repair had yielded no results. All her towels had been sacrificed to the cause, spread out across the floor to try and absorb the wetness. It just kept _going_.

There were no plumbers open. She knew this because she had tried them all, every one she could find. In her terror and confusion she had even wanted to call Abe. Thank God she had too much pride to do that, she thought as she wondered if waking up one of the tenants to see if they knew how to fix a sink would be legal.

It stopped on its own accord around an hour later. Either the source of toxic sludge had run out or the pipes had gotten tired. Peggy cleaned up as best she could and left a message at work explaining that she would try and be in for the afternoon. She turned the shower on with no small amount of trepidation - she smelled like sweat and industrial strength cleaner, please work - but the water was mercifully untainted.

She took a much needed nap after her shower and called a plumber as soon as the morning light hit. They sent one out right away and Peggy ate a breakfast of cold leftovers while she waited.

“Ho-leeee shit,” the plumber stood in Peggy’s kitchen and snapped her gum. “It looks like a portal to hell opened up in here.”

“It did go on for a long time,” Peggy admitted, “and I have no idea what was actually coming out of there.”

“Best if you don’t speculate,” the plumber said cheerfully, digging around in her toolbox. The name Adrianna was stitched on the pocket of her coveralls in curly white writing.

“I don’t know if you’d know yet, but - do you have any idea how much this is going to cost?”

Adrianna grinned. “Best if you don’t speculate.”

Peggy sighed. “I thought so.”

“Oh,” Adrianna added, “and you might want to look away. This is about to get ugly.”

Peggy took refuge in her bedroom. She worked remotely, argued with Ginsberg over the Schaeffer’s Rocket Boots campaign, and tried to ignore the disturbing noises coming from her kitchen. At one point it sounded like a chainsaw was being employed.

“I’m just saying that somebody’s kid is bound to get killed by these things. The safety protocols are shit, I been reading about it. Don’t you worry about this stuff?” Ginsberg said, image flickering because the holographic connection in the building was so old. Yet another thing that she had to replace.

“We are not product testers, Ginsberg. We aren’t the owners of Schaeffer. And since when do you know anything about this?”

“I am capable of reading a report, you know.”

“Then bring it up to Roger, okay? Make something his problem for once, instead of mine. It’s his -” Peggy intended to say ‘account’ but she cut herself off with a massive yawn.

“You look like hell,” Ginsberg said with all the tact he usually employed. Pretty rich coming from someone who dressed like he had murdered the color wheel and was dancing on its grave. “Why don’t you just go to sleep?”

“I can’t leave you in charge. You’ll start getting ideas.”

“Peggy, I am not gonna burn the place to the ground if you leave me alone for five minutes.”

“I don’t have time to sleep. I’m coming in this afternoon, for one thing.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m the boss. Well, at least right now I am.” Until Don got back from his “hiatus”. If that ever happened.

Adrianna knocked on the doorframe. The front of her coveralls were wet and she had black grease smeared up her forearms. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“No, he’s not important,” Peggy answered, mostly for the satisfaction of hearing Ginsberg’s indignant squawk. “I’m hanging up on you now,” she told him, and did, cutting him off mid eyeroll.

“I’m all done in here, want to come take a look?”

It did look better, though the flooring was pretty much a write-off. Then she looked at the quote Adrianna gave her. Wow, that was one long number.

“Can I give you some advice?” Adrianna asked as she was shrugging into her coat.

“Is it free?” Peggy asked glumly.

“Totally gratis, I promise. You ever think about getting a superintendent in here?”

“You think I need one?”

“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, as my Gran used to say. That’ll help you more than always having to call someone after the fact.”

Peggy thought about it as she got dressed for work. It wasn’t a bad idea, but could she afford it? The building was such a black hole for money already. She didn’t even know what she would have to pay someone to do this kind of work regularly.

She would decide later. For now, basic goals: try not to put on her clothes on inside out, pack something for lunch, and avoid nodding off on the subway.

Of course, it wasn’t until she was halfway to work that she realized she had forgotten the lunch on her kitchen table.

 

Joan met her at the door to her office. “You look terrible.”

“So I’ve been told. Did we have a meeting? I can’t even remember right now.”

Joan smiled. “Poor Peggy. No, I’m just here to offer my sympathy. What was it this time?”

“The plumbing. Before that it was the rats. I’m sure I’ll go home to find the whole place on fire, just for some variety.”

Joan followed her in and sat in the chair in front of Peggy’s desk, perfectly coifed and polished and not at all running on three hours of sleep. “I don’t see why you don’t sell it. Wasn’t that the original plan?”

“It has its charms,” Peggy told her, and Joan tilted her head slightly to the side and gave Peggy one of her terrifying no nonsense looks.

“I think I’m trying to prove some kind of point,” Peggy confessed, “but whether it’s to myself or to Abe is anyone’s guess.”

“I’d bet a little of both,” Joan murmured.

Peggy rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. They felt gritty and sore, as though she had been trying to blink through sand. “The plumber said I should hire a  - custodian? Handyman? I don’t know what to look for, or what to set as a salary.”

Joan looked thoughtful. “What about an android?”

“Like those creepy Nannybots that used to be all over the upper east side?”

“Peggy -”

“They didn’t have _faces_.”

“And I’m sure they’ve dogged your nightmares for years,” Joan said dryly, laughing at her a little, “but they’ve come a long way from the uncanny valley since then. There’s an android doorman at our building and I swear, you can’t even tell the difference.”

“I think that bothers me more,” Peggy said doubtfully, but she admitted to herself that it was a good solution.

“It would be a lot cheaper. You can even buy them used.”

“How do you know so much about this?”

Joan stood up with a little smirk. “Are you actually considering listening to my advice? I should go celebrate.”

“I don’t know how Lane puts up with you,” Peggy said, because they were newlyweds and she wanted to tease Joan just a little, just once.

“He loves me for my mind,” Joan said airily, ever the rubber to Peggy’s glue.

“Could you send the rest of Creative in here?” Peggy asked.

“Are you trying to make your day worse?” Joan wondered, but she did as Peggy asked  and they spent the next half hour trying to figure out how Mathis and Hagan had spent the entire morning working on the wrong campaign.

“This is why I can’t leave you in charge,” Peggy told Ginsberg after she’d banished the other two.

“I take no responsibility for this. And if you’ll recall, somebody told me I wasn’t in charge in the first place. I took you seriously!”

 If it was anyone else she might accuse them of trying to passive-aggressively punish her. “We need to talk about your tendency to take everything I say literally.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means -" there was a huge bang from just outside the door, followed by laughter. They both jumped. “It means I’m going to go hide out in Don’s office for the rest of the day. Don’t interrupt unless somebody is dying.”

“Fine, abandon me to those wolves,” Ginsberg complained, but he opened the door for her.

Peggy worked in the blessed silence for quite a while. She got a fair amount done given the day she’d had, and if she was lucky it might even be intelligible tomorrow. Then she made the mistake of sitting down on the couch for a break, which led to her closing her eyes, just for a minute, only a minute -

 

It was dark when Peggy woke up. She was curled up on her side and there was an old knitted blanket covering her. It smelled like tobacco and faded aftershave.

“That was me,” said Ginsberg, who was sitting at Don’s desk typing something, “and also I chased Mathis out earlier. I can’t prove it, but I think he was about to draw something on your face.”

Peggy didn’t know which she found more worrying; that Ginsberg was mothering her or that she was sincerely grateful for it. She looked over at him, the room all shadows except for the light from the computer screen and his own odd glow, a handful of shades lighter than the green of his skin and wavering like a seasick nightlight. He had once told her that he could read a book in the dark like this, with nothing but the light from his own hands. It reminded her of a trip she and Anita had taken with Dad when they were kids. They had driven out to Chicago to visit family one summer and on the way back their father had stopped, in the middle of the night, and insisted they get out and take a look at something. There were fireflies everywhere, hundreds of them, and it looked like pieces of stars had drifted down and settled on the trees and in the grass. She had read that it was called bioluminescence, at least when it was coming from fireflies. She didn’t know if the same word applied to people.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, picking at a hole in the blanket.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, pushing the chair back from the desk. “Want to go get something to eat before you take off? I could go for some Italian.”

“I’m not really hungry,” Peggy sat up slowly and stretched, “but thanks. I’m going to go straight home.” All the better to find out what fresh disaster awaited her.

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “See you in the morning.”

She logged in to the computer after he left. Just one more thing to do before leaving.

Joan was right - she could buy an android secondhand. She picked a dealer that seemed reputable and considered one of the less expensive models, one that was programmed for home repair. It was still sort of creepy - why did they have to make them look so human? The android in the picture looked a little lumberjack-ish, with his beard and flannel shirt. He was smiling blandly, no real emotion on his face. Sim Tech Android Number 36554, the caption said. 

What the hell, thought Peggy. If the android turned out to be a bust she could always resell. So she placed her order, arranged for a weekend delivery, and hoped she would get her money’s worth.

 

Her new purchase arrived at noon on a Saturday. Peggy was still in her housecoat and slippers, taking full advantage of her lazy day in. The delivery guy was red in the face from dragging the huge box up the stairs. He fanned at himself with one hand and puffed out his cheeks. “Christ, what have you got in here? A body?”

“Not quite,” Peggy said, and after he left she started on prying open the box. She hoped she didn’t have to assemble anything.

He was all put together, which was a relief, but there were no instructions included anywhere. How did she get him going? He looked like he was asleep on his feet, standing there with his eyes closed. She patted his sides and slipped her hand up the back of his shirt, looking for a switch or a plugin.

“You could at least buy me dinner first,” the android said out of _fucking nowhere_ , and Peggy screamed, jerked backwards and fell flat on her ass.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was a little slow in coming - this one fought me.

 

“I’m sorry, “ he said, leaning over her and - laughing? He could laugh? “But you have to admit that was too good an opportunity to pass up.”

He extended his hands, palms up, the careful way you would to a dog of unknown origin. “Here, let me help you up.”

“Okay?” Peggy was too baffled to say anything else, and he lifted her to her feet easily. She tugged her housecoat tighter around her and stubbornly resisted the urge to do anything as stupid as smooth back her hair. She looked how she looked and that was that.

Still, the slippers. They were pink and fluffy. She regretted the slippers.

“So,” Peggy flapped her hands uselessly around in some meaningless gesture before she made herself stop, “you, uh. You’re here!”

“I am.” He was grinning, still, and who could blame him. She felt like a kid that had been caught napping in class. Shit, he _was_ realistic. He even blinked.

“You know what, I should give you a tour.” At least that would eat up a few minutes. “This is my apartment, the one we’re in. I own the building though. All of it, I mean.”

“What happened to the floor?” he asked, pointing to the streaky mess in the kitchen.

“That’s why you’re here, actually. Well, not just that. More than that.”

He turned towards her. “I know, “ he said, puzzled. “You need things fixed.”

“The building has problems,” she confessed at the same time, and then stood for a moment in confused silence. “Wait, did they tell you? Is that why you were - awake?”

“Nobody told me,” he said. “It’s what I’m for.” He smiled again, but there was something wrong with it - it was bland and flat, completely divorced from the rest of his face. This was not the expression of good natured amusement he’d worn after she had gone ass over teakettle. It was how she would have expected an android to smile, before she had met one and had him stand in her living room, making jokes at her expense.

“Right. Of course.” She shifted awkwardly, feeling like she ought to apologize for something but not knowing what.

“Do you want a minute alone?”

“Sorry?”

“To get ready,” he said. “I’m assuming we aren’t doing the tour with you in your PJ’s, unless you’ve made a habit of walking around the building with no pants on.” He paused, and considered that. “You’d be a pretty popular landlady if you did.”

She raised her eyebrows at him.

‘But if not,” he said quickly, “then I can wait outside.”

“Yes, that would be the option we’re going with. Thank you - but wait!” she called out to stop him, as there was a piece of information fairly crucial to this conversation that she was missing.

He paused halfway out, door still in his hand. “Yeah?”

“I don’t know your name. What is it?”

He didn’t answer at first, and Peggy thought she saw a brief flicker of something strange in his eyes, there and gone so fast that she couldn’t identify it. “It’s Stan,” he said after a few seconds. “My name is Stan.”

That made sense. “Hi, Stan. My name is Peggy Olson.”

“Hi, Peggy Olson.”

They shook hands, very formally. His hands could have belonged to anyone, warm and a little rough with a strong grip. He started to say something, and then stopped.

“Go ahead,” she prompted.

“It’s just … I’ve never had anyone ask me that before.”

“Ask you what?”

“What my name was.”

That was impossible. It had to be. “I don’t understand. What did they call you?”

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, at the wall above her head. There was that strange uncategorized something in his face again. It looked like shame, poorly concealed. But that couldn’t be right. “Whatever they wanted.”

Peggy didn’t know how to react to that. So she stayed quiet, letting the silence stretch out between them until he was the one to break it.

“I’ll be in the hall, okay?” The weird, plastic smile was on his face again. She didn’t like it.

“Sure,” she told him. She didn’t get dressed immediately once he left her alone. Instead she went into the bedroom and sat on the end of her unmade bed, trying to shake off the feeling that she had plunged into deep water without warning.

 

They started at the top floor and worked their way to the bottom, with Peggy listing off repairs needed on each one. At one point she asked him if she should go slower, or if he needed to write anything down.

“I have a fantastic memory for this sort of thing, funnily enough.”

“The front door sticks,” Peggy said, giving it a little shove to demonstrate, “but at least it works. And that’s about it, unless you wanted to see the basement.”

“Anything down there?”

“Sort of. The previous owners used it for storage. Junk, for the most part, but we can go see if something might be useful to you.”

It was primarily just garbage - broken furniture, the rusted out shell of an old bicycle, window frames emptied of glass. Stan stepped around the piles of refuse, running his hands lightly over the brick walls and leaving scuff marks through the dust on the floor. The ceiling was a little low but arched very prettily, the exposed support beams just this side of decorative. In a better light and condition the room could have been impressive. Peggy thought it might have started life as a wine cellar.

“The old gal’s got great bones,” said Stan. “Needs a facelift, but I can take care of that. Would you mind if I cleared this out? I’m going to need someplace to put my tools.”

“Oh, if you want it for your office go ahead. I’m not using it, clearly. This is only the second time I’ve been down here.”

“Are you not around much? I’d like to know so I can plan when to bring the hookers in.”

Asshole. Okay, she laughed a little - but only a little.

“I work in advertising. The hours can be intense. I’ll leave you my number if you need to call for anything.” Whether he would be able to reach her was another question.

“How far does ‘anything’ go? Is a little afternoon delight on the menu?”

Peggy crossed her arms, squared her shoulders and stared him down. She was good at this. She’d had lots of practice.

He tried to withstand it, but he cracked. “Alright, point taken. I’ll keep the more risque repartee to myself.”

“See that you do,” Peggy told him sternly, but she relaxed. He wasn’t what she had anticipated, but if he was willing to listen to her then she could handle it.

They spent the rest of the afternoon working out a schedule for the repairs and cleaning out the basement. Peggy helped in the beginning but he shooed her away once they got to the heavier items. “Go home. Man strong, man clean up.”

Peggy sat by her bedroom window and reread an old favorite, a cup of coffee in her hand. She liked the light there the best. There was almost certainly something else she could have been doing - brainstorming for work, attacking the pile of dishes in the sink, more brainstorming for work. She didn’t care. At one point she looked out the window into the alley and Stan was there, fussing with the cans, a garbage bag thrown across one broad shoulder. He saw her face in the window, beamed up at her and waved.

 

“Mrs. Petrovsky is not having an affair with the guy in 2B. You’re making that up. She’s in her nineties.”

“Why would I do that? I’m not that twisted.”

“I need to keep you busier if you’re resorting to spying on the tenants to entertain yourself.”

Stan’s mouth curled up into a sly little smirk. “I can think of a couple ways you could do that.”

“Inappropriate,” Peggy muttered, but she was pressing her lips together to keep from smiling.

“What is that you’re working on?” Stan asked. He had developed an interest in her work over the past few weeks. She held the brief up for him to see. He squinted at it. “I don’t get it. What exactly is it supposed to do?”

“They’re eyedrops that change eye color. Only for about a day, but still. It’s a new product.” New products were always more exciting than known business. Peggy loved getting them. This one didn’t even have a name yet.

“Huh. That’s unusual. Want me to take a look at it when you come home?” They did that sometimes. It helped Peggy when she was stuck, having a second set of eyes on the work.

“We’d better not. Ginsberg’s territorial over this, and I think he’s starting to get jealous.”

Stan laughed. “Poor Ginzo. Tell him I’m not after his job. My intentions toward you aren’t nearly that pure.”

She wasn’t even going to dignify that with a response. “We have Maybelline this afternoon.”

Stan whistled. “Knock ‘em dead, baby.” Then he had the gall to wink at her. “You can think of me, if it helps.”

“You’re a shit, and I have to go.” With that, Peggy signed off.

There was a knock at the door but it wasn’t Ginsberg, whom Peggy had been expecting. It was Meredith, and she collapsed dramatically into a chair as soon as Peggy told her to come in. The tears were already starting.

Peggy had tried to wait this out before. It didn’t work - she was going to have to address the situation directly. At some point Meredith had decided they were confidants and nothing Peggy said or did would disabuse her of the notion.

“What happened?” Peggy asked, handing her a tissue. “And be quick - I have a pitch in ten minutes.” It couldn’t be Joan - she had been down in IT talking computer upgrades all day. Honestly, she was one of the biggest tech geeks Peggy had ever met.

“Dawn yelled at me,” Meredith sniffed, dabbing delicately at her eyes with the tissue.

“Dawn?” Peggy was doubtful. She had never known Dawn to raise her voice.

“Well, not yelled. But - you know. She’s mad at me, I just know it.”

Dawn had a particular knack for managing the admin staff. She never got angry, she just looked at them sadly, like she was so, so disappointed. It was very effective. Meredith did tend to take it too much to heart.

“She’s not mad at you. It’s not...personal. Do you understand?”

Meredith looked at Peggy, nose red, lips trembling and eyes as blank as a freshly washed window.

“She wants you to do better next time, that’s all. You can do that, right Meredith?”

Meredith started to nod, her oversized coif - cotton candy pink - making her look like a bobblehead stuck to a dashboard. “I think so?”

“Of course you can!” Peggy said, encouraging and totally fake. “Just keep trying.”

“Right. Right!” Meredith said, all sunshine and smiles now. She - ew - dropped her used tissue on Peggy’s desk. “You always know what to say.”

“Good,” Peggy said distractedly. Crisis averted.

“Hi, Michael!” Meredith chirped. Ginsberg was peering in at them, holding a laptop in front of himself like a shield. When she stood up he took a tentative step back in barely perceivable fear. The last time a crying jag had happened Peggy had been out sick and Meredith had turned to him as a surrogate. “You don’t get it,” he told Peggy when she came back, “I had to _hug_ her.”

“Ready?” He asked nervously, watching Meredith out of the corner of his eye.

“So ready,” said Peggy, and she was. This is what Peggy lived for, the rush before a big pitch, the future wide open with possibility like a stretch of unmarked road. Perfect.

Knock ‘em dead, baby.

 

“Stan,” Peggy called, jogging down the stairs, “you down here?” It had gone well with Maybelline, or that was her impression, and she liked to share good news.

The light was on but Stan wasn’t around. He went for long walks at night at least a couple of times a week. There were only so many ways for him to keep himself occupied in the wee small hours, since he didn’t sleep. Peggy didn’t ask him why he didn’t just shut off - it struck her as rude, or too personal.

He had done a solid job on the basement. It was a combination of a living area and a workspace. Stan’s tools were on one side of the room, neatly organized in their toolboxes, and his desk and a couple of comfy geriatric chairs they had scored from the flea market sat on the opposite side. Posters decorated the walls, including some old mock-ups she had brought home from work. He also had a small bookshelf and had been collecting cheap paperbacks from donation bins or charity sales. Peggy didn’t know where he got his spending money. He hadn’t asked her for any, and she wasn’t going to interfere. What he did in his spare time was his business.

She poked around a little. She had no intention of invading his privacy, but she was curious. Every time she had been down here before Stan was with her.

The desk was really just there to support a computer Peggy had given Stan - it was an old one of hers - but there was paper scattered across it, a variety of pencils and what looked like a kid’s watercolors set.

They were drawings, Peggy realised as she gingerly picked one up. They were clearly drawn by a practiced hand. She had known he liked to doodle because she had a message board on her fridge that he was always leaving crude pictures on, but it was an eye-opener that he took it seriously. Some had been filled in with the watercolor, the paper bowed and slightly brittle to the touch, but most were graphite. Street scenes, sketches of people on the subway or in the park, the Chrysler building from different angles. A number of them were of the same man, youthful and fresh-faced, wearing a navy uniform. And there was one -

There was one of her. Not a portrait, but a cartoon jotted down at the bottom of a sketchbook. When she flipped the pages cartoon Peggy moved, jumping onto a jet scooter and zipping around in circles.

She put everything back the way she had found it, went back upstairs and spent a long time sitting on the couch and thinking. If he came in, she didn’t hear it.

 

That Friday night Peggy waited impatiently for Stan to go for his walk. She double checked when she heard him close the front door, sneaking out into the hallway and peeking out to make sure it wasn’t one of the tenants. It was Stan, heading away from the building with his hands in his pockets.

She left a package for him at the bottom of the basement stairs, where he couldn’t miss it. It was a big bag of art supplies, decent ones if the salesperson at the store hadn’t been taking her for a ride. _For when_ _you can’t sleep_ , the note read, _from Peggy_.


	3. Chapter 3

They didn’t get Maybelline.

“Who’d it go to?” Ginsberg asked after she told him.

“Leo Burnett,” Peggy answered glumly. She was already in a poor mood thanks to a particular bit of information that Roger had passed on to her earlier in the day. She hadn’t told Ginsberg yet, and wasn’t sure if she was allowed to. Roger had a habit of telling her important things as if they were pointless gossip. She could never tell what was serious with him.

“Figures,” Ginsberg ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I wish we had some way of telling when they invite the really big agencies. Then we could hedge our bets.”

“That’s … surprisingly practical of you.” She felt slightly put out. Usually she could count on him to mope worse than she did.

“I must be getting used to failure. I’m starting to plan for it.” He sat bolt upright, in the grip of a big idea. She had seen that look before. “I’ve got it. Corporate espionage.”

She goggled at him. “Did you just say _espionage_?”

“Why not? Everyone else does it.”

“No, they don’t! Who the hell have you been talking to? And I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you don’t exactly blend in.”

“I didn’t mean me. I can’t tell lies for shit.” He snapped his fingers. “Bob could do it.”

“He doesn’t even work with us.”

“Yeah, but he’s down here all the time. And he’s in accounts - not so different from spying, is it? You know all those guys are always looking over someone’s shoulder.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Peggy, I’m serious!”

Why was she even listening to this? “I know. That’s what scares me.”

“It could give us an edge -” he started, but Peggy leaned over and grabbed him by the shirtsleeves.

“Ginsberg. Calm down. We are not going to be starting a spy campaign. No,” she said sharply when he tried to speak again. “This is not happening. You’re slipping into megalomania, and we can’t let that happen. We already have one of those, and his name is Don Draper.”

That took the wind out of his sails. He slouched in his seat, all that frantic energy gone. “Oh.”

‘Yeah.”

“I was maybe getting a little out of control,” he admitted.

“Don’t worry about it.” She patted him briskly on the shoulder.”Happens to everyone.” It had certainly happened to her. Don’s fake commercials, Ted’s poaching clients - it was the business. She knew it was the business, but that didn’t mean she had to like it and it didn’t mean she had to do things that way. She wanted to win because the work was good, not because they had torpedoed the competition.

She gestured to her laptop. “Are we done with this?”

“I know I’m done. I better go home before I start talking about wiretapping Ogilvy.”

“Do you ever think about doing something else?” Peggy asked, when they were walking to the subway together.

“No. I don’t know how to do anything else.”

“Yeah,” said Peggy wistfully, “me neither.”

 

It was getting dark by the time Peggy got back to her building. She went straight down to Stan’s without even taking off her coat.

“Are you busy?” she asked. He was using his computer, and there was something bright and complicated on the screen.

“Mi casa es su casa,” he said, welcoming. “Literally.”

She took a seat in one of the armchairs, sinking down with a grateful sigh. Disappointment made her feel like this, body-tired, like she had been on her feet all day.

“How was your day, dear?”

“Shitty. We lost out on Maybelline.”

“That sucks. You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just - grumpy.” She was probably going to be exhausted tomorrow. Sleep came slowly on nights like this, and she knew she would lay awake for hours puzzling over her failures - was it the small size size of the agency? Did she just fuck up? It was so hard not to waste time chasing answers she could never have.

“What’s that?” she asked Stan, pointing at the laptop screen, casting around for a distraction.

“A tattoo.”

“You’re getting one?”

He laughed. “It’s not for me. It’s a commission. I do them sometimes.” There was an expectant quality to the statement, like he was waiting to see how she was going to react.

“Are they always tattoos?” she asked, and the tension evaporated from the lines of his body. She had passed the test, but why had it been there in the first place?

“No, people want all sorts of things. Tattoos, portraits of their kids, drawings of comic book characters. I even designed letterhead for a couple of small businesses.”

“I had no idea you were a professional artist.”

“That’s a pretty loose definition of professional,” Stan said dryly, but he looked pleased. “Did you eat yet?”

“No, why?”

“I’ll treat you - stop that, no arguing,” he said when she protested. “Where do want to go? Or would you rather order in?”

There was a diner a few blocks away that Peggy liked. Not a fancy place, but she didn’t want to bankrupt Stan, and they served all day breakfast and Peggy could put away some hashbrowns at any time of night.

They walked over, making small talk about nothing of note. Fall was coming on fast and the air was crisp and beautiful, smelling like it might rain later. She felt better already, just from listening to the hum of the traffic going past and leaves rustling in the wind.

Peggy ordered a coffee as soon as they slid into a booth and to her surprise so did Stan. She almost said something about it, stupidly, but stopped herself just in time. Maybe he just wanted to avoid drawing attention to himself, to look like anyone else in a late-night greasy spoon, having a coffee with a friend.

“You can have whatever you want, as long as it isn’t too expensive,” Stan said magnanimously.

“Eggs and hashbrowns for me, thanks,” Peggy told the waitress.

“He having anything?” the waitress asked with the practiced disinterest of night shift employees everywhere.

“Just coffee.”

The food was perfect, salty and overcooked just enough. It brought her comfort in the way that only something really bad for her could.

There was an old couple a booth down, bickering over where to take a vacation. They were both overdressed for the weather, wearing heavy coats and knitted hats. Peggy listened to them between swallows of hot coffee. “We should go to the lunar colonies,” one of the men said. “We’ve never seen them.”

“What is there to see? Dust, and a tourist trap.”

“Oh, you think Paris isn’t a tourist trap? You just want an excuse to visit your sister and her fourteen cats.”

“And you just won’t admit you’re afraid of space travel. The ship isn’t gonna explode, you know. You’re -”

“More likely to die in a car accident. I _know_.”

“You ever been offworld?” Stan asked Peggy.

Peggy shook her head. “Have you?”

“I was built offworld. Mars, actually, so Ginsberg and I have that in common.”

“What’s Mars like? Ginsberg never talks about it.”

Stan shrugged noncommittally. “It’s okay. I wasn’t there long. I was shipped out to the naval base on Saturn pretty much immediately.”

“Did you build spaceships?” Peggy had never seen one up close even though she had worked on campaigns for interstellar travel. The first one had been for the tourism board for Jupiter. It had focused on the gas storms. _Stand in the eye of the storm_ , her tagline had been.

“No, I wasn’t designed for that,” Stan said. “I did repairs of the barracks. Pretty much the same thing I do for you, on a bigger scale. I got to know some of the guys pretty well. There were - not all of them were human. There were androids, like me.”

Peggy remembered the sketch she’d seen on his desk, the young sailor. She had to be cautious. She could never make a claim to having smooth social skills, but even awkward little Peggy Olson knew an old wound when she saw one. “Were you close to any of them?” she asked as lightly, as nonchalantly as possible.

There was a moment when she thought he hadn’t heard her, or didn’t want to answer. She was prepared to let the subject drop, but he wasn’t. “One of the sailors. He was an android, too. Brand new, top of the line. He was new to everything, and I was one of the first people he ever spoke to. I was there when they charged him up for the first time. He was kind of - a brother. Like a kid brother.”

“Are you still in contact with him?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

“No. He died. Or was destroyed, whatever you want to call it.”

“Jesus, Stan. I’m so sorry. How did it happen?” Peggy reached across the table and took his hand, which could have been all wrong, but he squeezed her fingers gently.

“They couldn’t tell me if they wanted to. They don’t track the androids, except for numbers. For accounting purposes.” He smiled a thin, humourless smile and pulled his hand back. “I didn’t react real well to that.”

“God, of course not.” Peggy was so angry for him that she could feel her face flooding with color like a bloodstain. “What the hell is wrong with people?”

“If you can answer that, Peggy, then you have a very bright future ahead of you. Anyway, they sold me to a reprocessing center because of my attitude problem. I bounced back and forth like that for a while. Not everyone appreciates my vibrant personality.”

“Assholes,” said Peggy, impotent with fury.

Stan laughed. “Thanks. So how bad was losing Maybelline? Quid pro quo. ”

Peggy moved the food around her plate and drank coffee to give herself time to think. Her problems seemed so trivial. She was embarrassed to have worried so hard over them. But he was waiting.

“It’s not just Maybelline. That was annoying, but - I got some news today.”

He looked concerned. “Bad news?”

“My old boss is coming back.”

“From where?”

“Rehab,” Peggy said. “Nobody will talk about it but everyone knows it.” She didn’t know how to explain Don to Stan, or to anybody. He had been her mentor but he had also been something else, something she had never been able to find the right word for. It was one of the most important relationships she had ever had and yet they weren’t even friends. She might know him better than anybody. She didn’t know him at all. And it had ended so ugly. “We were close, once. We aren’t anymore. He isn’t a very nice person.”

“Can you work with him?”

“I did before.” She was going to have to, and that was what she hated. Don made her feel like her choices didn’t matter. Like all her toil and effort was for nothing; she would always end up back in the same place.

The worst was when she caught herself thinking that rehab might have helped him, that his toxicity might have been the booze - a foreign substance, something that could be purged, something that didn’t live at the heart of him. There was so much danger there. She couldn’t wish their - their friendship, their mentorship, whatever it had been - back to life. It was dead. The problem was that she didn’t know how to mourn it either.

“But I’m not looking forward to it,” she told Stan.

He nodded, and they fell quiet. The old couple had settled their dispute and left. The only sound was the clinking of plates from the kitchen.

“Christ, we’re depressing. Quick, tell a joke,” Stan said, and Peggy smiled. She was still drained, but in a cleaner, lighter way. She thought she would sleep fine tonight.

“I’m finished. You want to go pay up?”

“I was hoping for a dine and dash, but if you insist.”

They didn’t talk much on the way back, just walked in companionable silence. Peggy rested her head on Stan’s shoulder, just a little, and when he put a friendly arm around her shoulder she didn’t object.

 

Peggy applied her eyeliner with a steady hand, long practiced at quickie makeup from countless evenings slapping on a face in the bathroom at work. She checked herself out perfunctorily in the mirror; no lipstick on her teeth, hair was right, clothes were in place with no accidental underwear exposure. She was good to go.

She stopped by Stan’s on the way out to check in on the expenses for fixing up Mrs. Petrovsky’s apartment. It wasn’t in the best shape, mostly because Mrs. P didn’t let Peggy know when things broke. Instead she let them be and complained loudly to her neighbours.

Stan looked her all the way up and all the way down. “Miss Olson, are you trying to seduce me?”

She scoffed at him. “This is for Joyce, I’ll have you know.”

He sighed. “I’m brokenhearted.”

“Are you trying to butter me up for something?”

“Can’t put anything past you.” He held up a piece of paper he had been writing on. “The cost of modernizing Madame Petrovsky, whether she likes it or not.”

It was bad, but not as bad as she had been expecting. Having a regular handyman around really did make a difference, and Stan was very good at finding cheap sources for materials. “Do you think I could raise her rent to pay for it?”

“Good luck collecting it. We’ll have to send in the kneebreakers.”

Peggy met Joyce at their favorite sushi bar. “Sorry I’m late!” she said, “I swear I didn’t dawdle, traffic was bad.”

“That’s okay. It gave me an excuse to have a drink while I waited, and I need as many of those as possible tonight.”

“Why, what happened?”

Joyce contemplated her glass of sake. “Shauna and I broke up. Or, more accurately, she broke up with me. I didn’t see it coming.”

“I never liked her,” Peggy said immediately.

Joyce laughed, but it sounded pretty hollow. “I did.”

“Want to go somewhere sleazy and pick up loose women? Or strippers. We could go see strippers.”

Joyce’s smile was genuine this time. “I’m done with women. From now on I’m all about dick. I’ll just close my eyes during the naked parts.”

“I haven’t had such great luck concerning the guys. Abe was probably the best of them, and so much for that. Let me know if you crack the code.” Joyce knew all about that situation. She had been the one to introduce them, after all.

“Screw Abe. And Shauna. And this sad sack shit. Hell, we’re young and single. Let’s get drunk and go embarrass ourselves.”

They applied themselves to the concept with vigor. First at the sushi bar, then at a generic irish pub, and finally at a cheesy dance club full of european music and strobe lights. Peggy danced herself sweaty and slightly sick. She lost track of Joyce briefly and left the dance floor, wanting to escape the warmth and the press of bodies around her.

She found Joyce in the bathroom, resting her cheek against the cool wall. She looked as overheated as Peggy felt and there was a bright smear of lipstick on her neck.

Joyce opened her eyes. “I made out with this girl.” She frowned. “I think. Where'd she go? She was a redhead. No, a blonde.”

Her voice was slurred and she was listing decidedly sideways. Peggy made an executive decision.

“I think it’s time for us to call it a night. I’ll get a cab for you.”

She poured an unresisting Joyce into the back of a taxi. Her friend leaned out the window and waved goodbye for two whole blocks, much to the driver’s distress. Peggy was glad she had made sure Joyce was wearing a seatbelt before they pulled away.

Peggy took the subway home. The trip helped her wind down and sober up. She stopped at a bodega and got some milk, various snacks and a much needed cup of coffee. The coffee tasted burnt and she suspected it had spent too long in the pot, but she drank it anyway. She thought about ordering a pizza when she got home, but decided she really only wanted a slice and that the rest would just go to waste.

She was fumbling with her keys when Stan came in the door, back from one of his walks. She could smell something like lightning on him, sometimes, when he stood this near to her, bright and ozonic even when the weather was dry.

“Here,” he said, taking her grocery bags.

“Thanks.” She had to slam her shoulder against the door to get it open. They needed to oil the hinges again.

“I’ll take care of that in the morning,” he said, following her in and moving the door back and forth to listen to it squeal.

“Sure. You want to do something tomorrow? I don’t have anything pressing to work on.” Peggy kicked the door shut and looked absentmindedly through her purse for her earrings. She'd taken them off at the club, and thought she remembered putting them in there. Had she lost them instead?

Stan started to put her groceries away. “A Saturday that’s actually a Saturday? Let’s party. You might never see one of those again.”

“You don’t have to do that -” Peggy tried to take the groceries from him while still handling her purse, and she dropped them both, contents of purse and bags scattering all over the floor.

She and Stan both stooped down to gather them up, heads almost knocking together. That was when she noticed it for the first time - a small mark just behind his ear. It could almost pass as a birthmark, if she wasn’t so close. It was the SimTech logo, pressed lightly into the skin. A brand name. Peggy’s stomach swooped dramatically and for the first time in the evening she thought she might be ill.

“What?” Stan asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Peggy said quickly, “nothing, I’m drunk …”

But she saw him follow the path of her eyes with his fingers, saw him touch the logo lightly, saw how embarrassed it made him.

“Maybe I should grow my hair out,” he joked.

Peggy didn’t laugh. “It’s not your fault,” she said, searching desperately for the right words when she wasn’t even sure what she needed to say. But she needed to say something. “Everyone has scars, right?”

He looked completely startled. For a moment his face was a perfect blank, and then he surged forward and -

And kissed her, sudden and hungry, on her kitchen floor, heedless of the mess around them, between them, inside of them.

“What,” Peggy panted, pulling back.

And in that split second of indecision, _how_ , _why_ , _when_ , someone knocked on the goddamned door.

“Wait,” Peggy said, because she needed a minute, just a minute. “Wait.” She staggered to her feet and answered the door on automatic. Tenants weren’t supposed to come to her apartment this late except for emergencies, she would -

It wasn’t a tenant. It was Abe, with a new haircut and an apologetic expression. He looked better than when Peggy had last seen him.

“Hi,’ he said, “can I come in?”


	4. Chapter 4

Peggy’s head was spinning, booze and surprise and the whole damn night catching up to her. “Hold on,” she said, and shut the door in Abe’s face.

Stan got up from the floor. He didn’t look at her. “You know him?”

“He’s my boyfriend.” She shook herself. “ _Ex_ -boyfriend.”

“I’ll go,” Stan said. “I’m - we - look, I’ll see you tomorrow. Call if you need anything.”

“I will,” she said, dumbly, watching him rush past a very embarrassed Abe.

“Was I interrupting something?” Abe asked.

It was a bit late for that. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or resentful. “Why are you here? You could have just called. Oh my god, is everyone okay? Did something happen to your sister?”

“No, no. Everyone’s fine, I promise. I just wanted to see you.”

“About what?”

“Can I come in, please? Your neighbours are going to get the wrong idea and call the cops.”

She let him in because there wasn’t any point in keeping him out. He looked around the apartment with a fond smile. “The place looks great, Peggy. You did good.”

“It’s late, Abe. Could we get down to business?”

He cleared his throat, like he was working himself up to saying something. She could see how nervous he was, the restless energy running through him obvious. Abe never was good at hiding his feelings. It made her anxious too, picking up on his mood like she used to before, back when things were good between them.

“I think I made a mistake,” he said.

It took Peggy some time to process that. She was not at her best. “You mean about us?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s exactly what I mean.”

“Now? Right now?” Peggy strongly considered having a fit of rage, but there was already a jackhammer of a headache building behind her eyes. Raising her blood pressure would not help with that.

“I know, I know. My timing is terrible,” he pleaded. “Just give me five minutes. If you want me to go away after that I’ll never bother you again, I swear.”

Peggy sat down on a kitchen chair. “Fine. I’m timing you - five minutes by the clock.”

He smiled gratefully and crouched down in front of her, taking her hand gingerly. “Thank you.”

“If you’re about to propose I will kick you out,” Peggy warned.

He laughed, and it was so familiar that it hurt. It reminded her of late mornings spent in bed and all night marathons of cheesy movies. Of them, the way they used to be.

“God, I’ve missed your sense of humor,” he said. “It feels like I lost my left arm. I keep looking over and expecting you to be there. Any time something good happens I want to tell you about it.”

“You could,” she said quietly. “There’s no reason we can’t be friends.” They didn’t break up because they hated each other. She had never even felt really angry at him, although he had been the one who said _we need to talk_ and _maybe we should take a break_. It had been a slow unraveling of their life together, with no one to blame, and he was just the first one to put a name to it.

“I don’t want to be just friends.” Abe said. “I’d like to try again, if you’re interested. But I understand if you aren’t.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Peggy covered her eyes with her free hand. She felt so unsteady. “I can’t make a decision on this tonight.”

“We could go to dinner and talk about it. Do you want to do that? Start spending some time together again?”

“I suppose,” Peggy said. It would give her time to think. She could cancel on him if she changed her mind.

“Peggy, that’s great! You’re amazing.” Abe said, and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek.

Peggy pulled back sharply and threw her hands up like a shield. “Whoa! Down, boy. None of that just yet.”

“Right, sorry.” Abe backed away from her like she was on fire. “I’m going to leave before I do some other stupid thing. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She got up to lock the door behind him and returned to her chair, aimless. The mess on the floor needed cleaning up. The milk would turn if she left it there all night. Her earrings were still missing. She needed to clean her makeup off and take a shower.

Peggy didn’t care about any of it. She dropped her head into her hands and let out a shaky breath. “Holy _fuck_.”

 

To: Peggy Olson

From: Michael Ginsberg

Subject: are you ever coming out 

are you hiding from don because he had a liquid lunch or from joan because we went over budget on the schaeffer’s commercial? mathis and hagan are making bets and i want to cheat so that i can win. other possibilities that are being considered:

1\. you owe lane money  
2\. you’re having an affair with cosgrove and his wife found out (if this one is true don’t tell me please)  
3\. you’re going to quit and have been writing a resignation letter (take me with you)

______

To: Michael Ginsberg

From: Peggy Olson

Subject: re: are you ever coming out

I hate you all. And learn how to capitalize.

______

To: Peggy Olson

From: Michael Ginsberg

Subject: re: are you ever coming out 

it’s informal speech. you don’t need to capitalize. that’s a rule.

______

To: Michael Ginsberg

From: Peggy Olson

Subject: re: are you ever coming out

That isn’t a rule, Ginsberg. You can’t just make up grammar rules. And I’m not helping you earn ill-gotten gains. Guess with the rest of them.

P.S. You’re all wrong.

_____

To: Peggy Olson

From: Michael Ginsberg

Subject: re: are you ever coming out

if you tell me we can split the money. also, bob is going for coffee and wants to know if you want anything.

_____

To: Michael Ginsberg

From: Peggy Olson

Subject: re: are you ever coming out

It’s personal, so go away. I don’t feel like dealing with people today. Can Bob get me a latte? I’ll pay him back later.

_____

To: Peggy Olson

From: Michael Ginsberg

Subject: re: are you ever coming out

oh, shit. did something happen at home? is stan ok? is your mom trying to move in with you again?

_____

To: Michael Ginsberg

From: Peggy Olson

Subject: re: are you ever coming out

Why? Did Stan talk to you?

_____

To: Peggy Olson

From: Michael Ginsberg

Subject: re: are you ever coming out

ha, so it IS stan. what happened? now i want to know.

_____

To: Michael Ginsberg

From: Peggy Olson

Subject: re: are you ever coming out

Good afternoon. I am out of the office for the afternoon and will attend to your email when I return. For all emergency requests, please call reception (646-581-6791).

_____

To: Peggy Olson

From: Michael Ginsberg

Subject: re: are you ever coming out 

very funny. i’m drinking your latte for that.

_____

 

Peggy and Abe went out for Ethiopian the night of their big not-a-date. It was a new restaurant, not one that they had been to before. Neutral ground. That was Peggy’s idea.

They shared a very awkward hug, sat down, and proceeded to stare silently at each other for a full minute.

“This isn’t going to as easy as I’d like, is it?” Abe asked.

“Nothing is,” Peggy said with a smile.

“We should order and hide in the bathroom until the food gets here. Less potential for long uncomfortable pauses that way.”

“Or we could go home. That solves the problem.”

She had intended to lighten the mood but Abe looked down at the menu with a sad twist of his mouth. “I don’t want to pressure you to be here. We can forget about the whole thing if you want.”

She sighed. “That isn’t what I meant. This hard for everyone. Just - don’t put too much pressure on it, Abe. We’re testing the waters, remember?”

“I’m not. I swear I’m not. But - it used to be that we could talk to each other real easy.”

That had been the start of it. All that empty air filling up the space between them. Peggy coming home tired from work and hoping that the apartment would be empty so that she could have time to herself. Abe’s politics getting more and more likely to cause some petty argument or worse, a lecture. That had been the start of it. But it hadn’t been all of it.

“Is that what you wanted? Something easy?” Peggy asked.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “Is it supposed to be hard?”

“Relationships are work,” she said, but she had wondered the same thing herself. How hard was too hard? At what point was it time to abandon ship?

“We did have fun once.”

“We did.” There were things she missed about being with him. The day to day rhythms of being with someone like that were hard to replace, and he had worn a groove into her life. They fit together until they didn’t. “What do you miss most about it?”

“Going to bed. I don’t mean sex,” he said when she raised her eyebrows. “We used to talk in bed at night. Just about whatever. It was nice, it relaxed me.”

“Mornings, for me.” Peggy wasn’t a morning person in general, but sometimes Abe would make breakfast and they would read the paper together. It made dragging herself into the world of the living much more pleasant.

“I didn’t want to dredge up all this old shit, Peggy. I wanted to show you a good time. I haven’t always been there the way I should have. I checked out, I know that now.”

“No, we’re doing the right thing,” Peggy said, surprised at her own certainty. “We need to get it out in the open if we’re going to be - friendly.”

They split a plate of atkilt wot, which was very good, and had coffee after. Abe told her about his new promotion and that his sister was pregnant. Peggy updated him on the situation at work and described going to Joan and Lane’s wedding - how beautiful Joan had been, how happy they had both looked.

“I was invited to that, wasn’t I?” he said guiltily.

She waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. You were a plus one.”

It all went very well until they were outside, sharing a cigarette.

“Who was that guy in your apartment?” Abe asked offhand, crushing the cigarette butt under his heel. “Does he work at the building?”

“He’s - he’s the maintenance man, so to speak.”

Abe looked a question at her.

Peggy winced internally. “He’s an android.”

“An _android_? Tell me you’re kidding.”

“You have it all wrong,” Peggy said defensively. “We’re friends.”

“Can you be friends with someone in that situation? He’s a person, you can’t just - “

“Don’t you think I know that?” Peggy yelled, enraged and shaking, just like that. “I know he’s a person, for fuck’s sake. Jesus, Abe. Do you think I went into this thinking, ‘oh, I can just own another sentient being, no big deal’? Could you give me the tiniest bit of credit? It was an accident. Do you really think of me as the kind of person who would be okay with that?”

“Peggy,” Abe said, face ashen. Peggy didn’t let him get another word out.

“You do think that, Abe. And deep down you always did.” All the anger and righteousness rushed out of her. This was it. This was the end, more than the breakup had ever been.

“I don’t want to think like that,” Abe said, face falling. He looked sick with himself. “I don’t want to be the guy who treats his girlfriend that way. You have to believe I didn’t want to hurt you.” He was telling the truth, and it didn’t make one bit of difference.

“We just aren’t compatible,” Peggy said. “Abe, when we broke up, I felt - I felt relieved. And I bet you did too.”

“I really did love you. I never lied about that.”

“I know.” Peggy had never cried about them, not even her first night sleeping alone, but she wanted to now. “Neither did I. But it’s over. We both know it.”

“I want you to have a good life. I mean that, okay?” Abe’s eyes were open and unguarded in a way she hadn’t seen from him in a long, long time. It took years off him.

Peggy nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead they shook hands, like strangers, and said goodbye without a word.

It was a long road home that night, and all Peggy wanted to do was crawl into bed when she got there. She couldn’t, not yet. There was one more piece of unfinished business to be attended to.

She hovered at the top of the stairs, trying to find the nerve to go down. She had been avoiding Stan all week, creeping in and out of the building like a thief. He hadn’t sought her out either.

He was sitting at his desk and stood up when he saw her, somewhere between hopeful and apprehensive.

“Stan, I need to start paying you,” she said, desperate.

He blinked. “What?”

“Name a wage. In fact, bill me for all the work you’ve done so far.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, “I don’t need to be paid. That’s not how it works.”

“It has to be how it works!”

“Is this about the other night?” Stan asked slowly. “Because you can just turn me down. You don’t have to pay me off. I’m not going to do it again.”

“No, that’s not it. I’m not mad at you - this is coming out wrong.”

“So you - I still don’t get it. I’m getting some mixed signals here, Peggy.”

“Stan, I care about you. I want you to be happy. But we can’t do this,” she entreated, staring vainly up at him, willing him to comprehend. “It’s sick. I _own_ you. That isn’t love, it’s Stockholm Syndrome.”

He stepped back, protectively, as though she had slapped him. “Well, fuck. Here I was thinking I had feelings like a real person and everything.”

“I wasn’t saying that, you know I wasn’t saying that.” She was panicking. This was supposed to help. It was supposed to make things better.

He looked past her dispassionately. For the first time he looked like an android, made of computer chips and wires, no investment in her or anything else. “This room just got way too small. You need to move so I can leave.”

“Stan, come on!”

“The tenants can hear you,” he said, firmly.

He was right - she could hear doors opening upstairs, and Mrs. Petrovsky’s querulous voice calling out. Still, she grabbed at his sleeve as he passed.

“Stan, please don’t.”

He pulled away from her, silent. Her fingers flexed reflexively, once, and then -

She let him go.

 

Peggy waited up most of the night, listening for the sound of workboots in the hall. She fell asleep on the couch just as light was bleeding over the horizon, and woke with a crick in her neck and a massive headache.

She went down to Stan’s before even brushing her teeth, moving as quietly as possible and plotting out her apology in her head. She could fix things. She could.

When she hit the bottom of the narrow stairwell she got one hell of a shock.

Stan was gone. His tools and any personal belongings had either been removed or thrown out. The furniture was stacked along the walls and the posters had been taken down. His laptop was still there, on the desk, and there was a note taped to it.

No, not a note. It was a reimbursement form from the company that sold Stan to her.

He had filled it out for her. All she had to do was sign.

 

“Where is he?” Peggy demanded the second Ginsberg opened the door. “Don’t screw with me. Is he here?”

“Who?” Ginsberg asked.

“Who do you think? Stan!” Their friendship was weird and mildly annoying, but not any more than everything else about Ginsberg. Stan may have skipped town to avoid Peggy, but she was sure he would have at least stopped in to say goodbye to Ginsberg.

“Will you keep your voice down?” he hissed, throwing a nervous glance behind him. “I have company.”

Peggy looked over his shoulder. His apartment was way tidier than usual and there were lit candles on the kitchen table, which was set for two. Something on the stovetop smelled amazing.

“Who -”

“Hi, Peggy,” Dawn said, stepping into view.

“I don’t tell you everything,” Ginsberg said when Peggy turned her incredulous eyes on him.

“Is this an emergency?” Dawn asked, polite as always and frankly a little amused.

“I need to borrow Ginsberg for two minutes. Just two.”

“I’ll go stir the pot,” Dawn said calmly, “I expect you back by the time I’m done.” She closed the door with a neat click.

“Do not ruin this for me,” Ginsberg warned.

“Then help me. Ginsberg, please. If I have ever been a friend to you then be one to me right now. Where did he go?”

“He’s really pissed off, Peggy.”

“I know. I want to make it up to him.”

“You could start by treating him like a grown man who can make his own decisions.”

“I know I can’t stop him if he really wants to go,” Peggy said. “I just want to apologize.” To her horror she found herself welling up, because her entire life was already beyond her control so why not her eyeballs too. Shit.

“Okay, stop with the tears,” Ginsberg said, unnerved, hugging her loosely with one arm, while she dabbed her eyes on his sleeve. He didn’t protest. “He went to an android reprocessing center. I can get you the address.”

“Thank you,” she sniffed, and then swatted his hand away when he tried to adjust her hair.

“What? You look like a maniac. You sure you don’t want to borrow a comb?”

Peggy didn’t borrow a comb but she did get the address, and flagged down a cab outside. The reprocessing center was a huge, unmarked warehouse. The only sign of life was a security guard standing in front of the door, drinking coffee and looking at his watch.

“Where are you headed to, honey?” he asked in a tired but friendly way. “You a nanny?”

“What?”

“Nanny-bots are in the southwest corner. If you decide to power down make sure you talk to a dispatcher first.” He peered at her quizzically. “Those kids did a number on you, hey?”

“Yes, thank you,” Peggy said coldly.

The warehouse was cavernous inside, packed with crates and rows of switched off androids, glassy eyes staring vacantly forward. Peggy checked their faces as she passed, but she didn’t see Stan. Here and there she found a box of spare parts - limbs, mostly - hands reaching out at the ends of dismembered arms.

It was incredibly creepy and Peggy was glad to find an information desk. “Company name or former assignment?” the woman staffing it asked by rote, typing something into her computer.

“No, I’m looking for someone. I’m not here to be - reassigned.”

“Are you here to purchase? This is a storage facility. I can’t sell you anything.”

“No, for someone specific. His name is Stan?”

That didn’t get her anything. “I don’t know what you mean?”

Peggy closed her eyes in frustration. She couldn’t remember Stan’s serial number. “Sim Tech androids, the ones for repair and construction? It’s very important.”

The woman pointed her in the right direction. “But most of them are out like a light, be warned.”

Peggy didn’t blame them. It had to get boring, just waiting around for someone else to make a decision on your life. And there was nothing to do. The people running the place could at least provide a T.V.

She found him over by one of the scarce windows, sitting on an overturned crate. He was cleaning his tools.

“Stan,” she said, and stepped forward, heart in her throat and blood roaring in her ears.

He looked up with a start, greasy rag still in hand. “Peggy, what the hell?”

“You have every reason to be angry with me. But I want to apologize. Can you let me do that?”

“Do I have a choice? You’re already here.”

“Yes, you have a choice! I can’t make you do anything. I wouldn’t want to.”

He put the cloth down and nodded. “I’m listening.”

“I have no idea how to do this,” Peggy said, “so it’s going to be a mess. I said something terrible to you and I’m sorry. Please believe me. Even if you never see me again I want you to know that. I was scared and I was stupid. I don’t know if I can make up for it but I can promise that I’ll try. The truth is - the truth is that you became the best part of my day and I didn’t know how to deal with it. You surprised me, Stan. I just chased you across town like a crazy person and I’m talking about my feelings in public and I would not do that for just _anyone_.” She took a much needed breath. “I want you to come home. That’s all. Just come home.”

Stan’s face changed while she spoke, slowly, like clouds breaking apart after a storm. He smiled at her - unrestrained and honest - the way he had that first morning in her living room.

“You missed me, baby?” he asked, taking her hands in his.

“Yeah, I did. I really did,” Peggy said, her shivering voice cracked wide open, right down the middle, and stepped into his arms.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:
> 
> I am never writing scifi again. I am not good at it.
> 
> I had this whole subplot in my head about how Bob Benson is an android too, except he is some kind of sexbot (thus his focus on people-pleasing and history as a 'servant') who is pretending to be human to escape his shitty life. But it didn't fit anywhere and I was having a hard enough time writing this story as is. So it got cut. If somebody wants to steal that plotbunny, go right ahead.


End file.
